


Out of the Bottle

by waterbird13



Series: Tumblr Fics [476]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcoholism, Detox, Disability, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post Civil War, Support, canon disability, either way, the relationship can be iron husbands or iron bros, withdrawl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 07:10:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11202993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterbird13/pseuds/waterbird13
Summary: Rhodey comes to the kitchen one morning to see Tony pouring bottles of alcohol down the sink.





	Out of the Bottle

Rhodey rolls into the kitchen to see Tony pouring a bottle of scotch down the sink.

“What’re you doing, man?” He asks, faking casualness as best he can, but his hands are gripping the wheels so tight it makes his knuckles hurt.

Tony shakes his head. “I can’t go back down this road, Rhodey. I’m not doing this.”

Tony’s been in and out of the bottle for…for as long as Rhodey’s known him, really. Periods of sobriety, each one as sincerely meant and well intentioned as the last, punctured by the pulling urge genetics and nurturing and poor coping that Tony’s been lead to.

He was out after Afghanistan, decidedly out, and one night Rhodey takes a second to set everything else aside and thinks about drying out in a cave surrounded by terrorists, knowing any wrong move will kill you. He was back in, then, knowing he was dying, his own invention, his own body, poisoning him. And then clean, for Pepper. Then New York.

Tony’s life is made of highs and lows, ups and downs so painful more normal people can’t stand to watch. Or they do watch, they spectate like it’s a sport, a public event.

The point being that, after New York, Tony really didn’t get another high. His vices morphed slightly, he worked more than he drank, but that’s a statement of how much he worked, not how little he drank. Not even for Pepper could he quit again, not when his world had so effectively been pulled out from under him.

And then Ultron. Rhodey winces just thinking about it, because honestly, he sort of expected Ultron to push Tony over the edge, deeper into the bottle than Rhodey’s ever seen, and if Tony hadn’t asked–begged–Rhodey to take his place on the Avengers, then Rhodey wouldn’t have left Tony’s side.

Tony does drink. But he also finds a new outlet, this time not machines but politics. Accountability, righting wrongs, being the best he can be and working with the people. He dedicates his soul to that.

And after that…well. Another low. As if his godmother dying wouldn’t have been enough, but Tony loses most of his so-called friends, is betrayed again and again, under Ross’ boot some days so much he can barely breathe, and finds out his parents were actually murdered.

Tony built Rhodey legs, but Tony built JARVIS mostly drunk too. It’s not a statement of sobriety.

Tony sets down the now-empty bottle and grabs the next one, starting the pour. Rhodey watches the liquid spill with some sort of abject fascination.

“Gonna help me?” Tony asks.

“You think about what this is gonna be like?” Rhodey asks. “After?”

Tony turns to look at him, a wobbling smile that says he’s just glad Rhodey didn’t argue. That says he’s thought this through and disregarded it, for the most part.

“Figure if I can sweat it out in an Afghani cave, I can do it in our luxury compound,” Tony says. “I’ll keep working much as I can, distract myself through it. It’ll be fine. Nothing I…nothing I can’t handle.”

Tony, with his bad heart and his anxiety and his PTSD. Tony who should probably call a doctor or a rehab clinic or someone, but who will stubbornly insist on sweating it out on his own.

“Fuck that,” Rhodey says. “That the last bottle?”

“Three to go,” Tony says. “Place wasn’t that well stocked, thank God, I’ve almost…run it dry.”

“I’ll pour,” Rhodey says. “You, go change. Pajamas. Sweats. Whatever. Lose the jeans.”

“If you want me out of my clothes….” Rhodey doesn’t have to look up to know Tony’s waggling his eyebrows.

“Go.”

Rhodey pours while Tony’s gone, then gets the bottles out of the way, into the recycling bin so they can be taken out later. Out of sight, out of mind.

When Tony’s back, Rhodey’s already in what was once the common room, pulling off the numerous throw pillows and blankets, making a little nest on the couch. He has four bottles of water and a box of crackers to one side, the remote resting on the couch’s arm rest.

He transfers himself to the couch, then pushes his wheelchair so it’s just at the edge of reach but not blocking the view. Then he motions Tony into the nest with him, pulling blankets over them and re-positioning pillows.

“Is that my shirt?” Rhodey asks, touching the sleeve.

“You said whatever,” Tony defends.

Rhodey smiles. “Yeah I did. Star Trek?”

When Tony starts to shake, Rhodey’s there. When Tony feels like he’s going to die, Rhodey strokes his hair and whispers to him. When Tony thinks a drink is the only thing in the world worth waiting for, Rhodey makes him sip some water.

Tony’s never understood that, yes, this is his demon to fight, but since they were just stupid college kids, all James Rhodes has wanted to do is fight them alongside him. It’s what friends do, it’s what people who love each other do.

“Got'cha, Tony,” he keeps saying, and he means it, too. Right now, over the next few hours, the next few days. Every day Tony craves a drink and needs some support forevermore. Now, always, in everything. Rhodey’s got him.


End file.
